


Anything you feel, put it all on me

by jesuisgrace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Hurt Derek, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post 3a, Spark Stiles Stilinski, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27637238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuisgrace/pseuds/jesuisgrace
Summary: “I need you to come” says a quiet female voice with a hard edge.“Come where? Wha? What’s wrong? Who-” Stiles has already shoved his legs into the jeans from the floor and has one foot crammed into a sneaker before he winces, remembering that one time he ran 3 fucking miles without socks and thought his feet would never be the same. He shuffles to the drawer, snatching a pair, and it clicks as he sits on the bed to put them on.“Cora?”“I need you to come”, she repeats, even quieter.*Derek left. Stiles is still trying to pick up the pieces when he gets a weird call. It's gonna be a long and interesting night.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 303





	Anything you feel, put it all on me

**Author's Note:**

> This didn't end up as what I started writing, but I like it anyway. My first teen wolf/Sterek fic. Enjoy! 
> 
> Thank you [Poe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poe/pseuds/Poe) for the beta and all the encouragement despite not being in this fandom. ILY!

Stiles was jolted awake from apparently actually sleeping by the loud obnoxious sound of his phone ringing. He spares a second to be annoyed about being woken up by his cell phone - who the fuck leaves their phone on at night, anyway - but a cop’s kid with a dead mom doesn’t ever turn his phone off. 

His brain is still working its way online as he squints and swipes to answer - he always answers. Caller ID doesn’t mean shit in Stiles’ world. 

“ ‘Lo?”

“I need you to come” says a quiet female voice with a hard edge.

“Come where? Wha? What’s wrong? Who-” Stiles has already shoved his legs into the jeans from the floor and has one foot crammed into a sneaker before he winces, remembering that one time he ran 3 fucking miles without socks and thought his feet would never be the same. He shuffles to the drawer, snatching a pair, and it clicks as he sits on the bed to put them on. 

“Cora?”

“I need you to come”, she repeats, even quieter. 

“Come WHERE, Cora? What the fuck?” Stiles is trying not to yell because something could be really wrong and having an elevated heart rate doesn’t help in a fucking crisis but his anger is rising and it’s hard to keep it down. 

“We’re at the house”

“What fucking house, Cora? It’s the middle of the night, I haven’t heard from h- from you in WEEKS and what the flying fuck is going on? You just fucking disappear after everything and then call after weeks of nothing and want me to show up?”

“Yes. We’re at the house, Stiles. I need you to come. I wouldn’t - he needs you.”

“HE fucking NEEDS me, Cora? What the actual fuck? What about what we need, huh? What about the pack? What about Scott? ISAAC? I can’t even… what the hell is Scott supposed to do for him, huh? What do we tell him? He can’t… we can’t..” Stiles is breathing heavy and trying to reign his voice and his anger back in. At least his dad is working tonight. 

“Stiles. Please.”

He realizes he’s already got one hand on the doorknob, keys to the jeep in the other. He hadn’t decided to go downstairs, he just went. 

“You’re at the Hale House?”

“Yeah”

“I’m on the way”

Fucking Hales. 

Stiles isn’t sure what to expect when he gets there. He always sort of expects that it won’t be in ruins anymore when people ask him to go there on purpose. Meet me at the burned out husk of my family home still just doesn’t quite compute. He doesn’t know what he’s walking into; Cora didn’t mention any danger, but he’s got a little jar of mountain ash stuffed into the pocket of the hoodie he thankfully left in the jeep yesterday and he grabs his bat from the backseat. 

He doesn’t say anything; they can hear him anyway. He doesn’t see anything in the hall or the big front room where he’d held Scott down so Derek could give him a tattoo. Of the fucking Nemeton, apparently. 

“Stiles” 

She’s standing at the top of the stairs. Is standing on the second floor really a good idea in a house that’s been mostly burned to ash?

“It’s fine, Stiles. Come on. Please”. 

Shit, did he say that out loud? Cora’s said please twice now. He’s starting to get freaked. 

He walks up the stairs, dropping the bat down by his side when the corner of Cora’s mouth lifts just a hair seeing it raised behind his head. 

She leads him to a small room towards the front of the house. Derek’s lying on a blanket in the middle of the floor. He’s covered in blood. He doesn’t even turn his head when they enter the room. He’s just staring at the ceiling. 

“He’s not healing”, she whispers, looking at Derek on the floor. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, Stiles”

“Well why did you call me? What about Peter? Have you called Deaton?”

“I can’t find Peter. And I don’t know if I trust him, anyway. And you know why I called you.”

“I - you- … fuck”

“Please.” She says again, tears in her eyes. God, this family. What would Stiles do to save his dad, the only family he has left? He can’t think like that, but there are tears in her eyes threatening to spill over and Derek still hasn’t moved and apparently it's down to him. Fuck. 

Cora backs out of the room as Stiles makes his way over to Derek. He’s got several deep gashes in his side. They look black and nasty and it’s clear they aren’t healing at all. There’s another on his face, not as deep, and he frankly looks beat to hell. Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever seen a bruise on him. But the gashes on his side are what worry him the most. 

He gets down on the dusty floor, grateful that Cora at least thought to put a blanket down since he’s got open fucking wounds. He lays the bat down beside him and scoots closer. 

“Derek?”

His eyes are open, but they’re still staring blankly up at the ceiling.

Stiles lays a hand on his chest, above and to the side of his wounds. He feels a jolt of something and wishes he could take pain. Cora’s maybe already done that, though. 

“Derek.”

Nothing

“Derek!” he says more sharply, but still not loud. He knows he doesn’t have to yell.

Derek turns his head slowly, wincing like it physically pains him to look at Stiles. 

“What is it? Tell me what happened, so I can help. Were you poisoned? Wolfsbane? Something else?”

Derek’s eyes flick down to Stiles’ hand on his chest. He probably should, but he doesn’t move it. 

“Derek. Please.”

“No poison. Just not healing. You don’t… I don’t. You can’t fix it. I told her not to call you.”

“Why did she call me, Derek?”

His fingers tremble against Derek’s sweat soaked skin. Stiles has to fight to keep from stroking his fingers back and forth, offering comfort. 

Stiles flexes his fingers a bit, can’t help but reach for Derek’s hand with his other and squeeze. 

“I’m here. And I won’t let you die. Why did Cora call me, Derek?”

His eyes close. Stiles is worried he’ll slip out of consciousness and then how the hell will he figure this out?

“Because you’re my… you’re the…” He’s starting to drift. 

Stiles can feel it then, under his fingers. The pain and the hurt and the wounds that won’t heal. One too many. So it’s this, then, not because… okay. He can do this. He doesn't know what the hell he’s doing, or even what this is, yet, but he knows he can do this. “You have to believe” Deaton had told him once, the extent of his magical training so far, but it’s served him pretty well. He can do this. It’s Derek. He has to. 

Stiles grips Derek’s hand tighter and spreads his fingers across his chest, letting the hurt and pain wash over him, feeling at it and trying to figure it out, like a puzzle. There’s something stuck, something blocking and Stiles reaches for it. Derek’s eyes shoot open and he half sits up. 

“Stiles! What are you-?”

“Shhhh. Hey it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here, Der. I won’t hurt you, okay? You know I won’t hurt you. Let me see, okay? Let me in.” 

Stiles knows that’s a lot to ask of Derek, but he needs to see, needs to figure it out. He scoots over quickly, so he can guide Derek back down half in his lap. The angle is probably not helping his wounds but the contact is helping him reach for… whatever it is. 

Derek goes with only a little resistance, wild eyes looking into Stiles’. Whatever he expected Stiles to do it wasn’t this. 

“Derek, I’ve got you, okay? You gotta let me in. Let me see. I can help. It’s okay.”

Stiles doesn’t even know how he knows he just knows. He knows he can help Derek, fix the block, help him heal, if Derek will just let him see. 

“Look, I know you’re scared. It’s okay. Let me help you, Der. Don’t you trust me?”  
Stiles’ voice breaks a little at that. He hates himself for it, but he keeps his focus. Derek is still staring up at him, but his eyes look a little less wild. He holds Stiles’ eyes and nods, barely moving, but enough to answer. 

Stiles closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He shifts a little so he can get his other hand against Derek’s side, just beneath the edge of the worst wound. He reaches out through his hands, feeling all the hurt that Derek had shut him out from just a second before. 

“Breathe, Der. I’ve got you, okay? Just breathe for me.”

He takes a shaky breath, and then another. Stiles feels his ribs and his lungs expand under his hands. 

There’s a dark layer of hurt everywhere, but he feels a sharp, bright point under his left hand and he pushes at it. Derek winces and jerks under him but makes an effort to stay still. 

“Breathe, Derek. I’ve got you.”

Stiles reaches for the sharpness, letting his awareness reach out to that place, down through his fingers and out into Derek. He can do this. This is Derek. He won’t let him- he won’t. Stiles takes a steadying breath, pressing his hands more firmly against Derek’s skin. He feels a buzzing in his body and thinks he’s getting close. He reaches for the spot again, seeing the wounds shudder and give up and heal in his mind. Sees Derek standing, smooth chest and stomach unmarred by deadly wounds. Sees him smiling, just barely, surrounded by his betas in the woods. Sees him with his arms wrapped tight around Stiles, nose behind his ear.

They both jolt at that, and Derek’s eyes are open again, boring into Stiles. He hesitates; can Derek see what he’s seeing? Feel this? But he doesn’t have time to be ashamed because he’s so fucking close and he’d rather be embarrassed than know he didn’t save Derek. He refocuses on that image because he’d felt it. Felt something. Derek had too. He knows he can do it. He can figure it out. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slow, like Allison before she takes a shot, and lets his mind go again. The buzzing is cresting again and he feels at the wounds, sending warmth to that sharp spot. He thinks of Derek’s small smile, the one he never lets anyone see. 

“Let go, Der. Let me in.” he says softly. 

And he does. 

Something shifts and Stiles feels - or maybe sees? - the bright point of pain under Derek’s ribs flare hard and bright and horrible and then start to dim. Derek tenses and then goes lax underneath him, finally taking a deep, full breath. Stiles opens his eyes. He keeps his hands against Derek’s body. He feels for the block and it isn’t there anymore. The very edges of Derek’s wounds are starting to pinken, starting to heal. 

Derek shifts, eyes looking wildly around the room. 

“No” Stiles says firmly. “Stay and heal. You’re healing now but it will be slow. Don’t move. You can - later, if you want. I’ll go. I need - you need to heal a little first.”

“What did you? Stiles - how?”

“I don’t even know, Der. Story of my life, right?”

Derek reaches a hand back behind Stiles, wrapping around his side and gripping the back of his shirt. 

“Stiles”

“It’s okay, Derek. You don’t have to. It’s okay.”

“Stiles.” His eyes are boring into his. “I -” No more words come, but he gives Stiles a little smile. The one he doesn’t let anyone see. Stiles feels a ripple of something flow through his fingers at that. 

His wounds are starting to close. He hears a noise behind him and turns to see Cora hovering at the door. Stiles looks down to Derek, who gives him a slight little nod. 

“C’mere, Cora. It’s okay. He’s healing now.” 

Cora flies to Derek’s side, tears streaming down her face. She takes Derek’s hand and squeezes hard. 

“You asshole”, she whispers. “Don’t you DARE fucking leave me.”

“I’m sorry, Cora. It’s okay. I’m okay.” 

She leans down to kiss his cheek, the most affection Stiles has ever seen them show, and made fairly awkward by the location of Derek’s head in Stiles’ lap, but as she sits up she throws her arms around Stiles and squeezes tight. 

“Thank you”

The three of them cling to each other weirdly for a minute. When Cora lets him go, the wounds are starting to close. 

An hour later, Stiles is in his jeep, driving home at four in the morning with werewolf blood on his jeans and no idea what the hell just happened. With… any of it. Cora had hugged him? And said thank you?!

He knows he needs to talk to Deaton, but he can’t do anything until he gets some sleep. He finally collapses back into his bed, not even his mind churning about Derek and what happened enough to keep him awake. 

When he wakes up, it’s still dark out. Shit, he really needed some sleep after all that. He blinks his eyes open and sees Derek propped in the corner of the room. 

“Wha-?” he starts. And Derek smiles. 

“It’s seven. On Wednesday. Evening. Your dad is back at work. There’s a note.” He nods at Stiles’ desk. 

“Wednesday? What??”

“Well considering you’re still in what you were wearing last night, including your shoes, I guess you needed the sleep.”

“You’re okay?”

“I’m okay, Stiles. Thank you.” Derek looks - shy? - almost. Stiles smiles at him and he pushes off the wall and crosses over to the bed. 

He sits on the edge and reaches for Stiles’ hand. Stiles lets him take it, looking up at him with a question written plain as anything across his face. 

“Yeah. That too.” Derek says, squeezes his hand quick before looking down at the floor once he’s answered. 

“Good to know” Stiles answers. 

“Derek, you know this doesn’t mean… we need to… you need to…”

“Shhh, Stiles. I know. I don’t… expect anything. And I know I need to fix some things. If I can. I just… I needed to see you. And thank you for coming. In the middle of the night. And for… healing me.”

“I didn’t heal you, Der”, Stiles answers, blushing. “I’m not a… well I guess I don’t really know what I am.”

“You’re my emissary, Stiles.” 

“Wha-?”

Derek laughs softly. 

“But I thought - Deaton?” 

“I told you. Deaton was my mom’s emissary. Not mine. You’re mine.”

“I’m yours?”

“Yeah, Stiles. If you want. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t. I - I didn’t. How long have you known?”

“For sure? Since last night. But I thought that maybe… after the club and the kanima, after… after Boyd.” He draws in a shaky breath. 

“It doesn’t mean - I mean, you don’t have to, it doesn’t have to mean…”

“Yeah, Der, it does. I’m yours.” 

Stiles can feel Derek’s small smile deep in his chest. He’s gotten more Derek smiles in 24 hours than he got the two years previous. 

“But Derek. I’m - I’m still angry, okay? I need you to - you need to fix things. You can’t just leave. I have to know you won’t just leave.”

“I know. And I won’t.”

“You need to see Isaac. Derek, he… his face…you didn’t see. You can’t. You can’t DO that to him. You can’t leave him. You can’t let him think… you can’t let him think he doesn’t matter.”

Derek looks back at the floor. Stiles knows he’s hurting him but he has to know. 

“Derek. I’ll be your emissary. I’ll be… I want to be… yours. But you have to take care of our pack. I can’t… we need an alpha, okay? We need you. You can’t run away when you get scared.”

“Our pack?” Derek questions, peeking at Stiles out of the corner of his eye, and for a second, Stiles thinks he’s offended him before he sees it. 

“Yeah, Der. Our pack. Now go pick up what’s left of it. I need a shower, like, yesterday. Isaac’s at Scott’s. I don’t want you back here until you’ve talked to them. You better hope Melissa is at work or she might kill you.”

“Yes, sir”, Derek murmurs. He squeezes Stiles’ hand, stands up, hesitates for a moment, and then leans down to brush a brief, chaste kiss to Stiles’ lips. Then he’s over by the window, halfway out when he pauses to give Stiles another small smile. “Thank you Stiles”, he says, so quiet Stiles almost misses it.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a post 3A fic with Stiles angry about Derek leaving him and leaving the pack. It ended up being something else I’ve wanted to write, inspired by the scene of Jennifer healing Derek after the fight with the alphas.
> 
> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr (eusuntgratie.tumblr.com) about Sterek & Stucky <3


End file.
